Scars and Seekers
by Moonlit Dreaming
Summary: When a young Charlie Weasley arrives in Romania, he is seeking dragons and danger. His aims are straightforward. Reality is far from it. Charlie/OC. In progress.
1. Prologue: Dragon Chasers

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter's not mine... of course! I'm just having fun with it. :)

**Author's note:** Hello! Here goes my first Harry Potter long-fic - I'm nervous, but pretty excited! There's so little known about Charlie, that I couldn't resist exploring his life. This prologue is very short, I know, but think of it as a taster. The actual chapters will be longer than this. Speaking of which, I've already written the first few, so expect an update _very_ soon. Reviews would be very much appreciated as this is new territory for me – let me know what you think!

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><p><span>1. Prologue - Dragon Chasers<span>

Charlie Weasley, who lived and breathed the outdoors, had hoped his days of sitting behind desks in dusty classrooms had ended the day he left Hogwarts. But somehow, in his pursuit of dragons, behind a desk in a dusty classroom was exactly where he found himself.

He had confidence in his chosen career, but it was hard not to think wistfully of the England Quidditch trials and his beloved broom, the wind whipping around him and that elusive golden glint up ahead when he was sat in a tiny Romanian classroom with twenty other bored youths in the middle of a stuffy continental summer. This was the first in a series of induction lectures that he hadn't considered before arriving at the reserve.

Really, though, Charlie thought, it was a bit naive to expect he'd be let loose on the dragons without so much as a few health and safety guidelines. Problem was, he was a dragon chaser and neither his health nor his safety were high on his list of priorities. Distractedly he eyed a foot long dragon fang hanging from one of the wood panelled walls.

Mr Harvey Ridgebit Junior, owner of the world's largest dragon sanctuary – _how_ many times had he mentioned that? – was still talking. He was a balding, middle-aged man dressed in immaculate brown robes. Charlie couldn't help noticing that Ridgebit, unlike his colleagues sat behind him as he paced back and forth, didn't bear a single visible dragon burn. The two men on his right certainly did. Both were wearing vests instead of robes and their arms were shiny with pink burns. The older of the two was shaven headed with a grizzled grey beard; he had a large scorch mark on his scalp. It looked painfully raw.

Sat on the left was a dark haired woman who looked just as bored as he felt. She kept shifting in her seat as though she could barely sit still. Charlie glimpsed a long, bright white scar when her top rode up. It snaked along her side, then up, out of sight.

Ridgebit continued his mind-numbing speech. They were a promising group, he said, very privileged to be able to study –

" – in the world's largest dragon sanctuary," Sam Eddowes muttered into Charlie's ear, making him force back a grin. Sam winked and sat back in his chair, and Charlie was suddenly reminded of his younger twin brothers, Fred and George.

"Your studies will be overseen – at least initially – by our team of tutors." Ridgebit made a sweeping gesture at those sat behind him. The two men made weak attempts at a smile. As for the woman, though she grinned, Charlie was sure he'd seen her eyes flick towards the ceiling mockingly.

As Sam would later comment, the whole experience was rather disappointing – they'd travelled over a thousand miles for an image-obsessed dragon sanctuary owner and his three, seemingly jaded, employees. Two of whom, it would soon emerge, spoke very little English.

"Bring on the bloody dragons," was Sam's succinct conclusion.


	2. A Slow Burning Flame

**Note: **Thanks to all those who reviewed the prologue! I love feedback! Anyway, here's the next chapter, where things finally get moving. Enjoy!

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><p><span>2. A Slow Burning Flame<span>

A great rattling grew in volume, becoming a roar that shook the earth. The air was suddenly red hot and stagnant. Anna Wilson moved quickly. Wand out, she ducked behind a cluster of rocks, while overhead the sky burned bright white as a rush of flames shot across it. Emilia, the (ridiculously named) Romanian Longhorn she was tracking, had awful aim. Apart from the pleasant warmth sailing past her, Anna was so far from harmed it was almost laughable.

"You'll have to try better than that, Em," she grinned. Anna propped herself on her elbows to watch as the scaly, green creature lumbered around and grew disinterested in her presence. Emilia was a nesting mother, and therefore far more dangerous than usual. Not as dangerous as some breeds during nesting, though. The Longhorn's greatest weapon was its two glittering golden horns used to gore its victims. Anna had no desire to get close enough to find out just how sharp they were. The Longhorn, one of the slower, stockier breeds and not a brilliant flier, was only at its most dangerous if you were stupid enough to venture into the range of those terrifying horns. Because of this, Emilia was one of few nesting mothers Anna felt happy to observe alone, without any of her colleagues for back-up.

She took a pair of omnioculars out of her pocket and fiddled with the dials. They were souvenirs from the 1986 Quidditch World Cup, but they worked just as well for watching dragons. Occasionally, they got confused and thought the swing of a Peruvian Vipertooth's tail was a Wronski Feint. But apart from that they were effective.

Anna focused on the nest Emilia was guarding. "One... two... three... four... is that five?" She shifted position. "Five... six... maybe a seventh tucked underneath. Yeah, at least seven. Could even be eight, I suppose. Good _girl_, Em!" Romanian Longhorns were once one of the most endangered dragon breeds in the world. Their numbers were only slowly increasing, but every new egg was a positive sign.

Dawn had dissolved into a summer's morning; pale pink had given way to blue skies that threatened heat. Anna jumped down from her hiding place. She walked just a few paces before throwing her wand arm out again. "_Accio Cleansweep!_"

There was a _whoosh_ and the broom sped through the air towards her. She caught it by the handle and swung herself on, kicking off from the ground in one fluid motion. The rocky, mountain terrain fell away quickly as she rose higher and leant forward on the broom handle. Cloud strewn skies and sharp ravines blazed by as she flew back to the base.

Unfortunately, she had a class to teach.

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><p>More classrooms. Brilliant.<p>

Charlie remembered studying for his OWLs, and later his NEWTs; they'd spent many hours in disused classrooms learning about the creatures Professor Kettleburn wasn't allowed to bring to classes. Dragons, griffins... anything particularly interesting. There were only four other students in this classroom – the reserve was very picky about the students it took on. They had been split into tutor groups and the only person Charlie knew was Sam who had been a year ahead of him at Hogwarts. He knew him mainly through Quidditch. Sam had been a Chaser for Ravenclaw; Charlie the Seeker and Captain for Gryffindor.

They were in a smaller room than yesterday, but the windowless, wood panelled walls were the same. It was very cluttered: a battered wireless was sat on the desk at the front, along with haphazard piles of parchment; on the back wall, Charlie spotted a Wigtown Wanderers poster amongst numerous sketches of dragons; a gold and scarlet scarf was flung over the back of the chair.

"Well," said Sam, sliding into the seat beside him. "It's started slowly, but I much prefer this to working in the Ministry like my mum wanted me too."

Charlie shook his head. "I can't think of anything worse than being stuck in an office."

"I was in the Department of Magical Transportation for a couple of months after leaving Hogwarts. Portkey Office. Boss was a bit of a dragon herself."

"Yeah?"

"Awful. She had a beard."

"My dad works at the Ministry," Charlie went on, once he'd finished laughing. "Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. And then there's my brother, he wants to be Minister one day."

Sam shrugged. "Nothing wrong with ambition, I guess."

"He's only fourteen."

"Then that's just plain scary."

Before Charlie had time to agree, the door opened again. Their tutor, Anna Wilson, the scarred, dark haired witch from the day before, walked up to her desk. She flung what looked to Charlie – an avid reader of _Which Broomstick?_ – like a Cleansweep Seven against the wall.

Anna pulled a sheet of parchment towards her and picked up a quill. "Right," she said, brown eyes sweeping across them. "Flying. You're all competent fliers of course – or so your application forms said." She smiled as though trying not to laugh. "We don't generally Apparate around the reserve for, well, obvious reasons."

"Which are?"

Every eye in the room turned to the blonde girl who'd spoken. She had an Irish accent and looked around Charlie's age. He didn't recognise her, but then he remembered that some people were home-schooled. "Well," said Anna, "let's test you all. Why don't we Apparate around the reserve?"

"In case you screw up and re-appear in the path of an angry dragon," Sam laughed. Memories of his first, miserably failed Apparition Test flooded Charlie's mind. He would never live down landing on that poor Muggle woman who shrieked and dropped her groceries all over the pavement; Bill, who was usually the height of cool, had dissolved into hysterics when he heard.

"Yes, exactly. Dragons aren't accustomed to people popping out of thin air, but believe me, they'll get over their surprise quickly. So we only Apparate in the safe zones. Other than that, we fly everywhere. Flying across the Romanian countryside – imagine. Almost as exciting as the dragons themselves, isn't it?"

For Charlie, it really was. There was nothing in the world like flying.

He wasn't sure whether Anna Wilson was joking or not. Something told him not.

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><p>Charlie was alone, which was fine by him. Having grown up with six siblings, moments of solitude were rare and to be cherished.<p>

Sam had gone into the village with a couple of other guys – some were ex-Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, some had gone to magical schools Charlie didn't know and others hadn't gone to any school at all. Charlie didn't know anybody, expect for Sam who was only an acquaintance. It was quite odd. He'd never been so utterly cut off before.

Solitude was relaxing and Romania exhilarating, but he did miss them. Even when he was at Hogwarts, he had Bill a couple of years ahead of him and Percy a couple behind. The thought of one of his mother's roast dinners was enough to set his stomach churning with hunger. Then there were the things he _never _thought he'd miss: dad's Muggle obsession, the twins' endless jokes, Ginny's stories. He could easily imagine, at this very moment, his mother penning the first of many fretful letters to him.

Evening had fallen and Charlie, sat on his bunk debating between an issue of _Which Broomstick?_ and _The Dragonologists Guide_, felt a sudden buzz of adrenaline. Not knowing where he was heading or why, he leaped up and slipped out of the dorm.

The mountains looked beautiful at dusk – starkly black against a violet sky. At first glance it was the perfect summer's night, but it was deceptively cold. His tutor's words replayed in Charlie's mind.

"_We only Apparate in the safe zones."_

Did the dorm roof count as a safe zone? He decided that as there was no one around it didn't matter. And so, trying not to think of unfortunate Muggle women doing their shopping, Charlie vanished with a _pop_ and appeared on the gently sloping roof looking out across the sanctuary. He slowly sat down. The mountains spiked up around him in all directions; he could see so much more from up here. His fingers itched for his broom – a Cleansweep Six, his most treasured possession. Flying training could not come soon enough.

Charlie sat still and silent. There was no wind. He didn't know how long he waited, before he heard it. A low rumbling, growl seemed to rise out of the very earth itself. One moment later, a higher-pitched cry accompanied it, and he felt a grin spreading across his face. He could _hear_ them: dragons, scaly and fire-breathing, very real _dragons._ Romanian Longhorns, if he wasn't mistaken. They had a peculiar cry. It wasn't low and melodic like the Common Welsh Green, or vicious like the Hungarian Horntail, but strangely hopeful. The roars continued, each one slightly different, at different intervals, like an undecipherable conversation. Charlie grew numb with cold; his fingers began to sting, but he wouldn't shift.

Something rose on the horizon – not a growl this time, but a black spot. It changed shape, became larger, spread its wings against a misty, newly risen moon.

Charlie let out the breath he had been holding.


	3. Flying with Dragons

**Note:** Hey everyone! Big thanks to those who reviewed last time - keep them coming! Feedback is much appreciated and very useful. Hope you enjoy the next installment! :)

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><p><span>3. Flying with Dragons<span>

"It's just like school, isn't it?" Sam remarked, as they set out from the dorm at day-break, brooms slung over their shoulders. At Charlie's questioning look, he explained. "You know: Quidditch matches. Walking down to the pitch after breakfast, nerves jangling, stomach doing somersaults..." Sam nudged him in the ribs, grinning. "Or was the great Charlie Weasley unaffected?"

Charlie laughed and shoved him back. "No way! It's the same for everyone. It's how you deal with it that matters."

"Remember playing each other?"

"I remember winning," Charlie teased. They scuffed their way along the dusty path to the meeting point just south of base.

"You lost to us that one time, though," Sam said thoughtfully.

Charlie tried to remember. "I don't – "

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. Bludger to the head, wasn't it?"

"Ah!" It was rare that Charlie recalled more of the aftermath of a match than the match itself, but fifth year versus Ravenclaw was the exception. His main recollection was of lying in the hospital wing having just had his jaw re-set by Madam Pomfrey. He was enduring the slow and painful re-growth of his teeth under the influence of Skele-Grow when the rest of the team, who had gathered around his bed, were sent away. Only his friend, Tonks, was permitted to stay – something Madam Pomfrey would no doubt not have allowed if she knew how clumsy she was.

Tonks, ever the Hufflepuff, had brought him a massive jar of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. She promptly tripped over the strap of her own satchel and scattered them all over Charlie's bed. He tried not to laugh – it aggravated the shooting pain in his jaw – but when she dropped the jar as well, smashing it, he couldn't help himself. Luckily, Madam Pomfrey had returned to her office.

"Oh, Merlin – sorry, Charlie – _Reparo!" _The pieces of glass jumped back together, but the beans were still pooled in Charlie's lap. There were hundreds of them: pink ones, green ones, yellow ones, even dubious sludge coloured ones.

"I guess we'll have to eat them all, then," Tonks said brightly.

"But I _can't_. Re-growing teeth, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Arse."

Tonks ended up eating them for him, providing a running commentary of flavours, while consoling him about Gryffindor's loss. "There's still one more match to go," she pointed out, distractedly popping an off-yellow bean in her mouth. "Who are you playing? Urgh,_ mustard._ I hate mustard."

"Hufflepuff," Charlie told her. "Me against you."

"Ooh, bubblegum. Well, call me disloyal, but I think you'll thump us." She leaned forward in a would-be conspirational manner. Conspirational didn't exactly suit Tonks – she was very obvious and very noticeable. Today, her hair was a vivid shade of scarlet. "I've been to a few of the Hufflepuff training sessions. Not as impressive as Gryffindor. It pains me to say it, but it's true."

Charlie tried to smile, but his aching jaw protested. "You're just saying that so I'll feel better."

"Maybe. But I _have_ seen their Seeker and she's definitely not as fast as you, Charlie. Hmm, grass flavour. Weird, isn't it? I've never eaten grass, but I somehow know what it tastes like..."

Of course, as Charlie remembered, she'd been dating Archie Bramwell, the Hufflepuff captain, at the time. That was how she'd known.

"Morning, recruits!" said Anna Wilson presently. They had arrived on a flat, low-lying plain beneath one of the smaller mountains. The sun had finally risen and Charlie found himself squinting in its glare. Not perfect flying conditions, he thought, analysing the scene like a typical Quidditch captain – but decent.

Anna stood before the group, clutching her broom. She was wearing Wigtown Wanderer's robes and had scraped her curly hair into a ponytail. "I've brought you down here this morning to see how you cope with flying at _speed_." She grinned at them. "Exciting, isn't it? Vitally important, too. It's not just that dragons are fast – although they _are_ – but also that you need to remember so much more when you're flying around them. I know that this is going to sound so unbelievably obvious, but you are all_ tiny_. Tiny, compared to them. You need to be thinking constantly. How far can it shoot flames? How much distance do I need to keep?"

Charlie wasn't frightened exactly. He felt the same thrill of excitement he always had, except it was now tinged with the slight feeling that he might not survive his time at the reserve. Perhaps this had shown on everyone's face because Anna suddenly stopped talking. "I don't say this to scare you," she said more slowly, a small smile playing on her lips. "And you probably _won't_ die. But just so no one gets any big ideas and thinks they're the next 'Dangerous' Dai – and he was eaten, if you remember the story – "

"By a Chimaera!" Sam cut in.

"Don't split hairs, Eddowes. Anyway, the Ministry defines dragons as equally dangerous, so my point stands. You could be eaten or incinerated or swept off the earth so quickly you won't know it's happened, if you get too close to a dragon." She tailed off because at that moment one of the young male students turned and, without a word, walked away in the direction of the base.

No one moved or dared to speak. Silence threatened to stretch into awkwardness.

"That _always_ happens when I make this speech," Anna muttered. "Then again, we always lose a few early on... Ah well." She clapped her hands together and it was hard to tell if it was bravado or she was genuine. "If he'd stuck around to listen, I was going to say you won't be let loose on the dragons for awhile yet, and certainly not on your own. So, no worries. Right – mount your brooms! Come on!"

There was a scramble as everyone snapped back to life. Charlie mounted his Cleansweep. He noticed at a glance that Sam was riding one of the newer Comet models. He forced himself to remember what he'd always told his team: expensive brooms don't always make a good flier. And the Slytherin team_ always_ seemed to have expensive brooms. Something about the old pureblood families, he supposed...

"See that tree at the end of the field?" Anna was saying, pointing at a spot in the distance. "On my whistle, I want you all to fly towards it at your top speed. Just before you reach it, turn as quickly and smoothly as possible and fly back here. Again at speed." She was grinning mischievously now. "I'll be timing you, checking your reaction times and so on."

"Won't we be seen from here?" asked the Irish girl, Keavy Connelly. "The village's only a mile or so that way."

"Good point, Connelly. But see that fence down there?" Charlie's eyes swivelled across the sun soaked field to a battered wooden fence running along it. "That's the border of our land," Anna explained, "and, well, heavy-duty Muggle repelling charms – that's all I'm saying."

Without warning, she blew on her whistle. Its piercing scream tore the calm morning, and then Charlie was in the air. He didn't even think. Sam, on his left, faded away. He was at Hogwarts again, on the Quidditch pitch, racing against the opposing Seeker. As he approached the tree, he envisioned a smooth lawn instead. He pretended he was diving, feinting to trick his opponent. He wheeled around at the last moment and raced back down the field.

"Impressive, Weasley," said Anna softly, as Charlie landed just ahead of his fellow students. He noticed that she was wearing what looked like omnioculars on a chain around her neck. Sam drew up beside him and the others landed moments later.

"Nice one, mate." Sam clapped him on the back.

"You, too."

"Well done, everyone. Looks like we have a couple of Seekers in our midst," said Anna and Charlie was certain she'd met his eye. "What about you, Weasley?"

"Oh, uh... Seeker for Gryffindor, yeah."

"And captain," Sam jumped in.

"I was Seeker for Gryffindor myself," she told him. "Not captain, though."

Charlie just nodded, feeling awkward in the spotlight. He wouldn't have put her down for a Seeker. She was a bit lanky and longer limbs were better suited to Keepers. Evidently, she was scrutinising him too:

"I wouldn't have had you down as a Seeker, though. Maybe a Beater. Beaters are usually stocky, aren't they?"

"I always did alright," he shrugged.

"Likewise."

Charlie didn't know what else to say. Fortunately, he didn't have to say anything. "That was almost too easy," Anna said. "Shall we try it at a higher altitude?"

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><p>He couldn't feel – from the very tips of his fingers, through his arms and legs, nothing. All Charlie knew was that he must be gripping his broom, otherwise he would be falling. Unless he <em>was<em> falling...?

No, _definitely_ flying. He was cold right to the core and it seemed to be spreading from the inside out, like ice through his veins. He could see his hands turning purple as they gripped the broom handle – but he could not feel them. Flying at altitude was other worldly. They circled mist shrouded peaks while following disembodied orders from Anna who'd performed the Sonorous Charm on herself.

"_Keep together!_ I'll be leading you into the descent soon."

Someone behind Charlie shrieked. He swung around wildly and caught sight of a spectacular plume of flames shooting into the sky.

"Focus! That'll be one of our Horntails. Their flames can reach forty feet. _Sharp left!"_

It was a good job Charlie's fingers were frozen to his broom because they prevented him from slipping off as he veered to the left. "We're going into the descent," Anna's voice boomed.

_Thank Merlin._

"There! Right up ahead – aim for that cluster of rocks." Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Anna pointing. "Land there."

Charlie was more than happy to comply; he was looking forward to having the use of his limbs back. He leaned forward and the Cleansweep gathered speed. Tired as he was, the broom was flawless as ever. The earth was rushing up to meet him when he noticed Anna at his shoulder. She was gaining on him, zooming past... But a rush of either adrenaline or madness overtook Charlie and he urged his broom on.

He couldn't let her win.

But win _what?_ his brain reminded him.

When Charlie landed heavily, he was genuinely surprised that a fluttering Snitch wasn't waiting for him. Anna, barely seconds later, landed and clattered into his back. The pair straightened up as the other students slowly began to arrive. Anna pressed the tip of her wand to her throat; her voice receded.

"I guess you win, Weasley," she whispered, so that only he could hear.

Charlie stared. Apparently he wasn't the only one competing.

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><p>The most dangerous thing Charlie did in his first week at the sanctuary was attempting to make dinner with Sam. Almost setting fire to the student kitchen was certainly a heart-pounding moment, but in all the wrong ways. Needless to say, it wasn't quite how he'd imagined his time in Romania would be. And it was also clear that he hadn't inherited his mother's flair for cooking.<p>

He and Sam were hopeless. After days out flying in all conditions, Charlie would've done anything for one of his mother's meals. As it was, he had to make do with raw vegetable 'stew.' He nearly lost a tooth on a rock hard carrot.

The student kitchen was a rustic, but homely room. It had stone walls and a flagstone floor; there was a round brass pot, like a cauldron, sat over the fire. In fact, it reminded Charlie a little of the dungeons at Hogwarts – except that it was warm, not draughty and he didn't worry about failing his Potions OWL every time he walked in there.

"Don't think I'm going to help you two out just 'cause I'm a girl," Keavy said one evening. She was sat at the other side of the room gleefully eating mouthfuls of chicken stew.

"And don't think," Sam retorted, "that just because you're a girl, I won't throw something at you."

Charlie ignored their bickering. He looked down forlornly at his plate of charred potatoes. "I'm sure you could get us some better food," said Sam, the same desperation in his eyes as he surveyed his meal. "What with you being the teacher's pet and all."

Charlie folded his arms. "You reckon?"

Sam didn't back down; the Fred-and-George comparison seemed ever more valid. "Definitely. You're her favourite, Charlie."

"Anna's?" Charlie looked at him blankly. Then he frowned. "Nah, I always get the impression she doesn't like me very much."

"What she doesn't like, is that you're a better flier than her. You're like her protégé, or something. Everyone thinks it..."

"But I'm _not _better than her," Charlie persisted.

Because this was what he was quickly realising. Being a good flier was one thing, but flying with dragons was a whole other story.


	4. Happy Birthday, Weasley

**Note: **Hey all! This chapter was a tough one to write, and I'm not even sure why! Just having a bit of a block, I guess. Anyway, time's been racing along lately and I genuinely didn't realise so much of it had gone by since I last updated. Sorry! And, as always, feedback would be _so_ much appreciated if you can spare a moment to leave it. :)

4. Happy Birthday, Weasley

Summer ended quickly. Charlie had only been at the sanctuary a few weeks before it burnt itself out. Autumn was an almost welcome relief. It was cool, but didn't feel harsh, particularly as Charlie and the other recruits had started proper, paid work at the sanctuary.

In Charlie's case this meant many glamorous days shovelling dragon dung. The dung was used for Herbology purposes worldwide and so, sadly, was in high demand. It wasn't Charlie's favourite experience – he was only shovelling it into sacks, so he didn't even get to go near a single dragon – but pockets full of Sickles and Knuts made up for the drudgery. As autumn became winter and the mountains grew icy, Charlie found that he had saved up enough gold to rent out a room at the local Inn for his parents to come and visit.

Unfortunately his money couldn't stretch to his brothers too. That was the problem with being one of seven children – there were always sacrifices.

As predicted, there was a growing pile of letters spilling out beneath his bunk. And with the exception of a cheerful note from ten year-old Ginny, they were all from his mother. Molly Weasley was a fiercely protective, maternal woman who wasn't about to let thousands of miles prevent her from mothering her second eldest son. Some of the letters made him laugh – _"You haven't caught dragon pox, have you?" "You can't actually catch dragon pox from dragons, Mum... I know the name suggests otherwise."_ Others just made him hungry and made him lie, all in the same letter – _"Have you been eating well, Charlie?" "Of course I have! The food's great!"_

Anna hadn't been joking when she said that they always lost a few recruits early on. Soon, only Charlie, Sam and Keavy remained in their group. Sam remarked that he was only sticking around so as to avoid being dragged back to the drudgery of the Ministry by his mother. Some days, Charlie wondered whether he really was joking or not.

December arrived in a whirl of bitter hill snow, and Charlie found himself writing home to invite his parents to Romania for Christmas. First, though, there was the small matter of his nineteenth birthday.

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><p>Aside from dragons – and that wasn't so much a born skill as something she'd learned over the years – drawing was the only thing Anna had ever been any good at. Even at Hogwarts, she wasn't anything special. She could race down from Gryffindor Tower to the Great Hall for breakfast in record time; she could mess around in Care of Magical Creatures like nobody's business; and on a few Saturdays a year she got a moment's glory on the Quidditch pitch. Providing Gryffindor won, of course.<p>

Although, as she remembered with a smile, they almost _always_ did.

By the time she reached seventh year, it didn't matter that Anna was bottom of Transfiguration, or that she melted a cauldron a month. The only thing that mattered was a looming war that spread shadows over their youth. As long as she could hold her wand the right way around, she qualified. _Any_one did.

Qualified for what? To fight. To defend. To die.

And die they did, before they'd had even a sniff of life. Kids who were barely in their twenties. Families destroyed in a heartbeat. The Prewetts... the Potters... the McKinnons...

For a moment, Anna sat frozen. When she jolted back to life, her quill was aimlessly suspended above her parchment, her mouth slightly open and eyes unfocused. Then she remembered that it was 1991, not the Dark Mark-ridden days of the late seventies and early eighties. She was sat in her office in Romania. It was long over.

She turned her attention to the half-finished sketch. It was of a baby Swedish Short-Snout trying to fly for the first time. She'd photographed him a few months ago; he was the size of a double-decker bus now. In real life his fledgling wings had looked spindly, but surprisingly strong. On parchment they looked wrong – as thin and frail as the paper itself. Anna tugged a hand through her messy hair and scratched out the unfinished wings. Outside, a long, low howl wavered; the fire in the hearth flickered and roared. It sounded like the cry of a wolf or a dragon, but it wasn't either of those. Having spent ten years in Romania, Anna knew the place almost as well as she knew her home town, the village of Upper Flagley in Yorkshire. She could still say only a few sentences of Romanian, but the landscape she knew intimately. All its tricks and its pitfalls were second nature to her now; as much a part of her as Hogwarts had been. And so she recognised the sound of the winter wind blowing down off the mountains for what it was.

Her old Gryffindor scarf was hooked over the back of her chair. Before putting quill to parchment again, she wrapped the scarf around her neck and imagined that she could still smell her childhood on it.

* * *

><p>When Charlie walked into class, late, on the morning of his nineteenth birthday, he was certain he'd taken a wrong turn. He had surely wandered into a volcano or a furnace, if the ferocity of the wall of heat that assaulted him was anything to go by. "Merlin..." he muttered. He had spent the night wishing he was warmer and longing for the comparatively milder Devon winters or his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. Now he felt like he was going to burn up on the spot.<p>

Keavy, Sam and a number of the European students were gathered around the fireplace. The fire was blazing spectacularly. Before Charlie could join them, Anna addressed him unexpectedly:

"Weasley, take off your jumper."

"W-what?" he spluttered.

"You'll boil alive in that." She had dispensed with her usual jacket, he noticed, and was wearing a tank top. To Charlie's intense embarrassment, he remembered he had thrown a Weasley jumper over his t-shirt this morning. It was cobalt blue featuring a blobby, knitted Common Welsh Green – a leaving present from his mother. He wrenched it off. His faced burned, but not wholly as a result of the heat. Drawn by curiosity, Charlie walked up to the fire. "What are we looking at?"

"An Antipodean Opaleye egg," Anna said, grinning. Her tone bordered on smug. "First of its kind at the reserve in – ooh, thirty years?"

Something was glinting pearly grey amongst the flames. Charlie leaned closer... he knew about these, they were famed for their rarity.

"This is an orphan egg. It was confiscated from the black market by the Romanian Ministry. There's been a bit of a crackdown lately. About time, really." Anna pointed into the leaping flames. "See that? Look closely and you'll notice a faint outline of the baby dragon." Something tiny and pink was just visible through the opal shell. "These eggs have a translucent shell and when the mother heats them you can see the baby, if you know what you're looking for – "

While she was talking, Sam sidled up to Charlie and continued his relentless, self-appointed mission to force Charlie into celebrating his birthday. "I'm nineteen," he retorted. "It's not even a special birthday."

"First birthday away from home?" Sam muttered. "How is that not special?"

Charlie grunted and folded his arms. He could have pointed out that he'd had birthdays away from home many times at Hogwarts. Somehow he didn't think that was Sam's point. Anna was explaining how you could make out a very faint heartbeat if you looked intently enough. "Come _on..."_ Sam persisted.

"Eddowes! Weasley!" she snapped. The rest of the class swung around to stare. "For the love of Merlin, shut up! I doubt that anything you two have to say to each other is more interesting than this egg."

A strange, uneasy warmth squirmed in Charlie's stomach. Again, it was nothing to do with the heat of the fire. It was the simple fact that he agreed with her. As a kid, he would have given his right arm to be in the same room as something so awe-inspiring.

He opened his mouth, but Sam beat him to it. "It's Charlie's nineteenth," he explained.

Anna raised one eyebrow. "Does he want a medal?" she said. She was not looking at Charlie – instead, she glared past him, at Sam. But when she turned back to the fire, her eyes rolling at their nonsense, he caught a brisk, "Happy Birthday, Weasley."

* * *

><p>Sam won. Of course.<p>

Later that evening, they followed the rocky path away from base and into the local village. Keavy Connelly followed them at some distance. She had spent the day – like Charlie – insisting there was no way she was coming. The night was cloudless, peppered with stars and a fat half-moon that illuminated their way.

According to Sam, there was an amazing tavern in town. "Similar to The Three Broomsticks!" he promised. He was particularly derisive when Charlie admitted that he had only been into the village once or twice. "You're missing out, mate."

"He's hardworking," Keavy put in, drawing level with them.

Charlie wasn't sure. Perhaps he _had _spent too long with his nose in textbooks or out on his broom. He'd learned hardly anything of the culture. All he knew was that the village was almost entirely magical. The few Muggles nearby were very much of the easygoing, turn-a-blind-eye variety. Sam, on the other, seemed to know everything – from reams of gossip to the best drinking spots.

The tavern was just as Sam had promised – a Romanian replica of The Three Broomsticks. In place of Madam Rosmerta was a pretty, black haired witch called Ramona. "Not bad," Charlie admitted. They took a seat in the corner and, as he nursed his Firewhisky, Charlie sat and let the mix of the languages wash over him.

"Hey, take a look at that!" Sam jolted him out of his reverie with a sharp jab in the ribs.

"What?"

"Over at the bar."

Charlie looked up. Leaning on the bar with her elbows, was Anna. She was accompanied by the two male tutors from the reserve. The older of the two wandered off into the gloom of pub, but the other stayed with her. "So what?" he asked Sam.

But when Charlie looked at Sam he noticed he was smirking. Even Keavy's smile was a little off.

"Know who he is?" Sam nodded at the man by Anna's side. He was dark haired and his tanned skin was like a jigsaw of dragon burns.

"Yeah. He's Dragos something. He tutors the Romanian students."

"But do you _know?"_

"Know what?" Charlie sighed.

"Those two – " Sam jerked his head towards the bar again; Anna was now laughing at something Dragos was saying – "they're, you know..."

"Together," Keavy finished for him. "And I bet that's not even true, Sam."

Sam snorted and downed the rest of his drink. "OK, sure. Everyone knows she sneaks in and out of his room like, every other night." Suddenly, to their mortification, Anna was walking over to them, holding a glass of Firewhisky. Sam cut off his rant abruptly and forced a sickly smile onto his face. "Evening, Miss Wilson!"

"Sam, Keavy." She smiled and nodded at them, then placed the Firewhisky on the table. "That's for you, Charlie. Happy nineteenth."

"Oh, thanks, I wasn't expecting anything." Charlie felt the sudden urge to apologise for the incident in class earlier, but she was already turning away.

"Oh, and Sam?" she said, glancing back at him. "Please never call me Miss Wilson again. It makes me feel like an old spinster." She rejoined Dragos and together they too disappeared into the gloom at the back of the pub.

_Everyone knows,_ Sam had said. Charlie slumped back in his chair. Not him – he was Oblivious with a capital O.

He knew he would later look back on this birthday as a mixed one.

There were plenty of upsides: he was finally in Romania, at the reserve he had been dreaming about since he was five. He had seen a real Antipodean Opaleye egg, up close.

And yet, as the day ended, he felt vaguely unsettled. He couldn't shake it.

Whatever it was.


	5. Meeting Norberta

**Note: **Hello all! Apologies that this update is a little later than I expected. I didn't expect it to take anywhere near this long, but exams came along and I had an assignment to finish (excuses, excuses!) so free time was limited. Now, though, I'm free for five glorious months and updates should be more frequent. Yay! As always, if you read, please let me know what you think! Thanks!

Meeting Norberta

Molly Weasley had plenty of sayings. She repeated them often to her seven children, sometimes without even thinking about it. _There's no point crying over spilt potion_ and _May born witches always marry Muggles._

But perhaps the most relevant, and least magical, was: _be careful what you wish for. _When Percy complained about having annoying younger twin brothers, when Ron moaned about being the last one anyone thought of, that was what she said.

Currently, these were the words running through Charlie's mind. He was sat on his bunk, staring at the letter in his hands. For months he had been hoping for a letter that wasn't from his mother or Ginny. Specifically, he had been hoping that Tonks might find the time to write to him even though she was probably busy with her Auror training. He had not written to her, either; he was busy too.

Now, though, Charlie's wish had come true – sort of. A letter arrived that morning, which was not from his mother, but not from Tonks either. It was from Ron, strangely.

And as soon as he finished reading it, Charlie was torn between panic and amusement.

Long story short, his youngest brother had somehow ended up in possession of an illegal dragon, despite only being a first year. Hagrid was involved. Of course he was. Charlie forced out a laugh. It _was _funny really. Part of him knew that if he was in Ron's position, it would have been his dream come true.

Instead, it was a nightmare.

Charlie had no choice but to help his younger brother, even though it threatened to jeopardise his position at the reserve. What would Mr Ridgebit say? Charlie was only a trainee; he had only been there a matter of months. He didn't know how he was going to propose bringing in an illegal dragon. It certainly happened – Anna's black market Antipodean Opaleye egg was evidence of that. But he somehow doubted students were supposed to be involved. And how was he going to get the dragon to Romania? Possession of a dragon _could_ result in a prison sentence.

Charlie crumpled the letter in his hand. _Careful what you wish for._

* * *

><p>There were some days when Charlie was particularly grateful for his Gryffindor bravery. Today was one of those days.<p>

"Anna! _Anna!"_ The class had just finished a gruelling flying session. Anna was marching back to the reserve, broom in hand, when Charlie called her and she whipped around. It was difficult to concentrate because her right cheek was smeared with a streak of mud.

"What?" she asked.

Charlie swallowed. He had no choice. "I need a favour."

* * *

><p>Anna knocked on Mr Ridgebit's door before she could give it a second thought. She <em>really<em> didn't need this. She didn't need to bother. And yet, somehow, for some reason, here she was.

She'd been at the sanctuary ten years, in her job for six, and never in all that time had she encountered a situation like this one.

She could kill Charlie Weasley for his cheek alone.

A dull voice stirred from within Ridgebit's office. "Come in."

Anna sighed and plastered her best 'trust me, I know what I'm doing' smile on her face. Walking straight in, she planted her palms on the desk. "Sir, how would you feel about having another Norwegian Ridgeback?"

* * *

><p>Afterwards, she sought Charlie out in his dorms. Sam Eddowes was lounging on a bunk and eyeballed her as she wandered in. "Alright, miss?" he said, grinning in that irksome way of his.<p>

"What did I say about calling me miss?" she sighed. "And where's Charlie?"

But before Sam could answer, a mop of red hair ducked out from beneath the opposite bunk. "Yeah?" said Charlie, with an edge of nervousness she'd never heard in his voice before.

Anna fought the sudden urge to smirk. "Can I speak to you privately, Mr Weasley?" she said instead, the_ height_ of professionalism.

He jumped up without a word and followed her out of the room. As she turned away, Anna caught Sam mouthing "teacher's pet" at Charlie's retreating back. Neither of them spoke until they reached her classroom.

"So can you help my brother?" Charlie asked the moment the door clicked shut.

Anna paused, surprised. She had not expected him to phrase it like that. For her, this was just about a Norwegian Ridgeback and an irritatingly cheeky student. Now it was something else entirely and she felt a renewed rush of sympathy for him. "Yeah, I can help," she assured him. "I've already spoken to Mr Ridgebit and made it sound like I'm behind it all. It should be fine, as long as you can arrange for the dragon to be brought into the country. It can't be seen, until it gets here. That's the most important thing." Where dragons were concerned, that was the golden rule.

Charlie looked deep in thought. "I could get my friends to fly him over one night. They've been meaning to visit anyway."

"Simple then," she said, though it was anything but. "Ask them and then tell your brother what he has to do... How old is he?"

Charlie smiled sheepishly. "Actually, I have five brothers. Ron's eleven though."

"Wow." There was a pause. Anna glanced at her watch. "You'd better run, Weasley."

"What?"

"We're flying again at five, remember?"

"Oh! Yeah, of course..." Charlie slouched out of the room, running a hand through his thick hair.

Anna watched him go. _Charlie Weasley not interested in flying._ Now that was rare.

* * *

><p>"If anyone asks," Anna instructed him, "you're behind in your anatomy coursework and I'm giving you a catch-up lesson."<p>

Charlie yawned so widely his jaw ached. "Outside?" he said. "At 4am? Very believable." It was approaching dawn in Romania; the dying night was sharply cold and draped in darkness. Charlie and Anna were walking briskly away from base to meet the Norwegian Ridgeback when it arrived. "Anyway," Charlie continued, "who are we going to see at this time? Anyone with a shred of sanity is still in bed. And I'm _not_ behind in my anatomy work."

"I know that," Anna said, shooting him a sideways glance. "You're ahead, if anything."

Charlie didn't know how to answer and settled for a modest shrug. The air had been calm when they set off, but as they marched on, it became increasingly alive with far-off shrieks and snorts. "What do you reckon that is?" he asked.

"Sounds like the Hungarian Horntails are mating," said Anna. At the look on his face, she grinned and quickly added, "Sorry_ just_ mated. Once they finish the female tends to get a bit shirty." As she said this, a great roar made the air around them tingle. "See?"

Dawn crawled closer. Dim sunlight began to roll over the distant mountains and Anna raised her brass omnioculars to the sky. For a long time, nothing happened. Charlie's stomach began to swoop, like he'd just flown upside down on his Cleansweep. Maybe something had happened? He paced. He turned. He paced some more. And then Anna screamed.

"_There!"_ She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, pointing into the pink sky.

Charlie, who didn't have the benefit of omnioculars, could only squint. "Here you go," Anna said, thrusting them into his hands. "I need to send sparks up so they know where to land." Charlie swung the omnioculars around wildly until finally he saw a dark, unwieldy blob swerving about as it rushed towards them. Either the dragon was thrashing wildly or the fliers were exhausted – probably both – but it looked to Charlie as if they were going to crash...

He was shoved in the shoulder and staggered sideways. _"Get out of the way!"_ Anna yelled. Charlie dropped to the floor, the omnioculars slipping from his fingers. Something whooshed past above him, rattling and groaning and then –

It sounded like a small explosion.

He scrambled to his feet, wrestling his wand from his pocket with shaking fingers. They_ had_ crashed. What had once been a sturdy wooden crate, was now a splintered mess. Charlie's friends, mercifully uninjured, were backing away from the dazed black, scaly creature unfurling itself from the wreckage. It stretched its spindly wings and snorted; a jet of flames shot ten feet into the air. Anna was approaching it carefully, her wand out. She caught his eye and communicated to him to do likewise. "Together," she shouted, as the Ridgeback began to rise on shaky legs, ready to swing its long tail in her direction.

"_Stupefy!"_

It crumpled mid-swing. Charlie ran forward as the dragon hit the ground. "Did it get you?"

"Nah," said Anna, flexing her arm. "Just missed my shoulder. Must've been an inch in it!"

Charlie knew she was exaggerating, but the relief that everyone had escaped unscathed overrode everything else. Now that the danger had passed, he noticed something that he had missed before. The ground around the Ridgeback was white... Snow? On closer inspection, it was fluffier, like cotton wool. "What the – ?"

"I think this might answer your question..."

Charlie looked up. Anna was holding out the severed head of a teddy bear. Sweet Merlin. "Hagrid's... mad," was all Charlie could force out.

Once the Ridgeback was safely restrained and they were heading back to camp with Charlie's bedraggled friends in tow, Anna turned to him. "Did you notice anything interesting?" she asked.

The young dragon's aggression re-played in Charlie's head. The plume of fire, the whip of its tail... "I think," he said, "that Norbert here might actually be, um..."

"Norberta?" Anna suggested. She dissolved into giggles.

And just like that, it wasn't terrifying. It was funny.

* * *

><p>Charlie wandered along the shadowy corridor to Anna's office. He didn't knock immediately. He waited, even though he knew she was in there; he could hear the shuffle of footsteps over a stone floor.<p>

No sooner had he rapped on the door, than it swung open. Anna stared back at him. "Oh. Hi, Charlie."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Just... thanks, that's all. You didn't have to help me earlier."

Anna didn't say anything, and Charlie was suddenly overcome with the feeling that he was being a total idiot. Then she smiled. "It's fine. Doesn't matter. Look, come in, Charlie."

Her room was lit by softly flickering lamps and covered in rugs and throws in shades of red and gold and purple. "My mum knits," she explained, following his glance and grinning. Charlie was surprised. Not about the knitting – he had first-hand experience of that – but by how neat her room was. Somehow, subconsciously, he had expected something messier. Perhaps it was her mad hair or her scuffed boots.

She offered him an armchair by the fire. On the coffee table in front of him lay an ancient copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, which looked close to disintegration, and several issues of _Which Broomstick?_ magazine. Charlie felt suddenly at ease. "Drink?" she said, holding up a bottle that had been sat on her desk. Golden Firewhisky swished back and forth inside the bottle.

"Sure."

"I'm a rubbish hostess," she said, rifling around her desk. "I don't have any glasses. Will this do?" Before Charlie could so much as look up, a mug was flying through the air towards him. He caught it with both hands, thinking fleetingly that if Tonks had thrown it, it would've ended up shattered on the flagstone floor.

He laughed. "That's fine." It was moss green, and when he turned it over in his hands he saw that it was emblazoned with a gleaming gold talon. "The Holyhead Harpies?"

"That was a present from a friend," Anna said, pulling a face. "Her team, not mine." She held up her own mug – old and chipped and marked with the faded silver meat cleaver of the Wigtown Wanderers. She sank into the seat opposite him and poured a measure into his glass.

"Thanks." He took a gulp, misjudged it slightly and coughed spectacularly as the burning liquid hit the back of his throat.

Anna, reclining in her chair, tried not to laugh. She failed. "Would you have preferred tea?"

Charlie had to admit that he'd only tried Firewhisky on a handful of occasions - and that he'd barely touched the glass she bought him for his birthday. "Bill was the more adventurous one," he said.

Anna's eyes widened. "Wait, wait! But you were Quidditch Captain, weren't you?"

"Yes," said Charlie, chuckling, "but I wasn't in it for the parties."

"Well, no," Anna agreed. "But in my day – " She paused abruptly, sitting upright. "Did I just - ?"

It was Charlie's turn to laugh. "_In my day,_'" he mimicked.

"Oh Merlin." She shuddered, taking a swig from her mug. "I've just made myself look ancient, haven't I?"

"Course you haven't," Charlie answered automatically. He wasn't lying. If Anna hadn't been his tutor, the age gap between them would scarcely have occurred to him.

But Anna wasn't listening. "Oh damn, do you know who I just reminded myself of?" she groaned. "Madam Merton. She was the dreadful old hag – well, not a _literal _hag – I worked with in the Ministry. We shared an office for a few horrifically boring years."

Charlie wasn't sure why he asked it. He wasn't sure why he didn't think first, but somehow he blurted it out. "You worked for the Ministry? How come you didn't move over here straight after school?"

The mood changed in an instant. Anna looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. "Charlie," she said, amazed. "I couldn't just leave Britain. When _I_ left Hogwarts, there was a war on."

Charlie could have cringed. The age gap which had previously seemed so insignificant now stood starkly between them. Before he could say anything, there was a knock at the door and Anna jumped up to answer it. A hulking figure loomed across the threshold; it was the Romanian tutor, Dragos. Remembering his conversation with Sam and Keavy, Charlie stood up. "Well, I guess I'd better head off..." he mumbled. "It's late and..."

"Yes, sorry Charlie," Anna said, looking distracted. "It's just me and Dragos have an appointment – "

Charlie was already at the door. "That's fine, really. Thank you again for earlier."

It was only when he was stood in the corridor that Charlie realised he still had her unwanted Harpies mug grasped tightly in his hand. He downed the Firewhisky in one, before leaving the empty mug outside her door.


	6. The Luck of the Irish

**Note:** Hello! So clearly I haven't made a story cover for this yet – I'm half-way through making one. I hoped I'd finish it before I finished the chapter, but in the end I decided an update would have to take precedence. It'll be up soon! Anyway, sorry it's late, but enjoy the chapter and please review. :)

The Luck of the Irish

The Weasleys spent their second day in Egypt being shown around the secret wizarding tombs in the Valley of the Kings. Bill led them into the shadowy corners and through the hidden doorways that seemed to slip unnoticed past the eyes of the Muggle tourists surging around. Charlie was relieved to be out of the blazing midday sun, but he was also quickly thankful for his strong stomach. Ron had turned slightly green, while Percy suddenly became very interested in the runes around the entrance. "I think that explains why I asked Mum and Ginny to wait outside this one," Bill said grimly. "Nasty curse, very nasty."

"Flesh eating, I presume?" asked their father, peering over his glasses at the unfortunate, and long dead, Muggle archaeologist. "Why do you suppose it only lasted as long as the arms?"

"Don't know." Bill's smile was dark. "I guess it's crueller that way."

A sombre, if morbidly curious, mood descended.

It was soon shattered. Out of one the darkened corners, came an ominous clicking sound. Percy jumped. "Boys, boys – please – " Mr Weasley pleaded, because Fred and George had started a mock sword fight with the bones of some poor wizarding Pharaoh.

Back at the hotel that evening, Bill and Charlie's conversation turned to work. They'd barely had time to speak since Charlie moved to Romania. Once their parents and younger siblings had gone to bed, they were left alone in the dining room. "Percy was just telling me his thoughts on various Ministry departments," said Bill, "and which he'd most like to join when he leaves Hogwarts."

"And what did he choose?"

"Nothing, yet. He was torn between the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Bill laughed wickedly. "The way it's going, I reckon we'll end up with the most exciting jobs in the family."

Exciting? Charlie's head filled with memories: endless evenings eating watery stew and raw vegetables with Sam, Anna teaching him how to play chess and then admitting half-way through that she wasn't entirely sure of the rules herself and reading the same issues of _Which Broomstick_? over and over while waiting for a rainstorm to pass. Working with dragons wasn't always as exciting as you'd think.

"I think Fred and George, at least, have got big plans," Charlie said. "I can't imagine them doing a Percy and getting a desk job somehow." It went without saying that whatever the twins did, it would be together. Bill and Charlie couldn't imagine anything else.

"I'll agree to that," Bill chuckled. "How are you finding Romania then? Bit of a change from home."

That was the thing: only then did Charlie realise that the definition of 'home' was changing. It wasn't necessarily the sleepy hills of Devon anymore. His head was full of dragons.

* * *

><p>"They scored."<p>

"Shit."

"They _scored! _ Transylvania scored again. I can't believe it! 30-nil down and we're not even ten minutes in."

Anna was walking a few paces ahead, her broom slung over her shoulder, but she whipped around at the sound of their voices. "You two had better be talking about the Peruvian Vipertooths," she told them threateningly. "We don't pay you to share chat-up lines or whatever it is you're doing – "

"Transylvania scored again," Charlie burst out, unable to contain his disappointment.

"What?" At that, Anna dropped her Cleansweep on the ground and rushed back to Charlie and Sam. "So what's the score now?" They all leaned over the portable wireless tucked under Sam's arm. The tinny roar of a Quidditch stadium crackled out of it.

"Still 30 points to nil," Charlie said morosely. They slowly walked on, no one talking; Anna retrieved her broom, but didn't take her eyes off the radio.

Sam smirked. "Peruvian Vipertooths not so important anymore, eh?"

Anna waved his words away. "Never mind them. They're not going anywhere."

"_...Matthews passes to Williams, on to Bradshaw..." _The commentator's voice was oddly muffled by Sam's old wireless. _"Oooh! Quaffle is intercepted by Constantin! Constantin racing down the left, Transylvania still in possession. He dodges a Bludger, he dodges the Keeper – oh, oh dear – "_

There was an explosion of swearing. Charlie could feel England's chances of a World Cup semi-final slipping away. He felt a headache coming on.

"It's funny game," Sam was saying, "they're thrashing us, but if our Seeker could just find a flash of inspiration – "

Charlie snorted and Anna shook her head vigorously. "With Carter as Seeker?" she said.

"He's useless."

"Worse than useless!"

Sam rolled his eyes skyward. "Oh yeah, I forgot you two were the _authorities _on all things Seeker."

"Come on," Anna said, gesturing for them to hurry up. "We'll listen as we go."

A year had passed since Charlie's return from Egypt and he had since qualified as a full-time dragon tamer. His days were largely taken up pouring over books and statistics for his research. Evenings were spent on his broom, either playing five-a-side with Sam when they could get a team together or flying across the mountains. Thankfully his cooking skills had improved so he no longer had to rely on the village Inn for sustenance. Day to day, Charlie didn't have a great deal of contact with the dragons. This, he knew, was normal. Dragons didn't like people and people – sane, sensible ones, anyway – didn't like dragons. He came into close contact with them only every few weeks and only if he was accompanied by Anna and his colleagues. Today was one of those days – they were tracking a group of Peruvian Vipertooths in order to find out why they had left their usual territory.

Their path grew increasingly rocky and began to climb steeply upwards, winding through the hills. Suddenly, the ground evened out, before disappearing completely. They'd arrived at the edge of a shallow valley once populated by the Vipertooths. They peered down into the brown waste below. "What are those?" Charlie asked, pointing at the grey mounds dotted all around; from their vantage point, they were the size of pin-pricks. "Piles of ash?"

Anna lifted her omnioculars to her eyes. "You're half right," she said, fiddling with the dials. "Charred sheep bones, by the looks of it. But they're old. The dragons haven't been here for a long while."

"_Damn!"_ Anna and Charlie jolted and swung their heads in Sam's direction. He was holding the wireless to his ear, and judging by the sour expression on his face, it'd given him some very bad news. "Penalty to Transylvania," he told them, in the same low voice someone might use when reporting a death. "Aaaand... yes, they've scored it. Brilliant."

Charlie winced. "The score now?"

"60-nil."

But before Charlie could throw his head in his hands and scream, Anna was tugging at his arm. "Come _on,"_ she insisted. "We'll mourn later, okay?" She led the way down the dusty track into the heart of the valley. Charlie and Sam followed in silence, ears trained on the crackle of the wireless.

"I've got a vial of antidote in my bag," Anna told them. "Although... if either of you get near enough to the Vipertooths to get bitten, I don't hold out much hope of you getting back to base in one piece."

"I'm not too worried about that right now," Sam said, looking around. "Not a Vipertooth in sight."

"We'll head west," Anna decided, leading the way once more. They passed the piles of sheep bones and patches of dried, scorched grass; signs that dragons had long since departed the area. The low, distant voice of the Quidditch commentator was the only noise that accompanied them. Charlie likened it to a funeral march.

"_...Bradshaw attempts a pass... Oooh, bad luck! Immediately intercepted by Dumitru, onto Constantin who dodges Mitchell's Bludger, onto Dalca down the right. It's Dalca and the Keeper, it's – it's – 160-nil." _There was a pause in the commentary._ "Merlin, getting a bit embarrassing, isn't it?"_

"Getting?" Charlie started to say, but he didn't get any further because Anna had stopped abruptly and he almost walked into her. "What is it?"

She simply sighed and pointed. Charlie felt his stomach twist when he realised what she was looking at. Roughly fifty feet away were two mounds – bronze, scaly and shining dully in the afternoon sun. They were too large to be another heap of sheep's bones, but just the right size for a Peruvian Vipertooth. They were the smallest of the dragon breeds – only fifteen feet in length – and, like all dragons, they would never willingly choose to sleep in such an open area during daylight hours. This left only one explanation.

The boys stopped and waited as Anna peered through the omnioculars. "Not breathing," she muttered. "Definitely dead... We're safe to approach."

Merlin. Charlie wondered how much grimmer his day could get.

He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"I think I need to do an autopsy," Anna said, at the same time as Sam gasped, _"200-nil!"_

_So_ grim.

Before this, Charlie had not known what people meant when they said they could smell death. Now, upon reaching the dead dragons, his face screwed up involuntarily and he knew he would be remembering the moment for days to come. It was quickly obvious how the Vipertooths had died. Both of their thin necks were pierced deeply and oozing green-ish blood.

"Do you think... they killed each other?" Even as Charlie asked this, he knew how unlikely it sounded.

"No, can't have done." Anna's eyes flickered quickly across the crumpled dragons. She was frowning. "It'd be a massive leap to suggest they fought, inflicted _identical_ injuries on each other and then both died from them. But not only that, the wounds are too wide. Vipertooths have narrow teeth, see? Those wounds are about two inches wide and, if I'm not mistaken, we've wandered into the Horntail's territory."

"A Horntail killed them?"

"Almost certainly," Anna sighed. "Still no idea why they moved out of their own territory in the first place, though. And it's worrying, really worrying. Vipertooths are so vicious and there were two of them and they wouldn't have gone down without a fight."

Suddenly Charlie was on her wavelength. "Vipertooths have extremely venomous fangs. If they nipped the Horntail in the struggle..."

Anna nodded grimly. "We could have a dead Horntail on our hands too."

"WE SCORED!"

They had forgotten about Sam who had slunk off to sit on a rock with the wireless. It fell off his lap with a _crack_ as he leapt up and punched the air.

"_Sam!"_ Anna said, exasperated. "We're in the middle of Horntail territory and you're yelling like a banshee." Her lips twitched. "Who scored for us?"

"Matthews," said Sam. "Anyone smell a comeback?"

"All I can smell is decomposing dragon," Charlie muttered. He didn't hold out much hope for a glorious revival. The way he saw it, Transylvania had been toying with them for forty minutes and now that they'd shown the faintest flicker of life, it would be swiftly crushed.

"Help me over here, Charlie." Anna had drawn her wand. She aimed it at the first dragon. _"Diffindo!"_

"Oh, Merlin!"

"Don't be squeamish, Weasley!" she said cheerfully, beckoning him over.

All in all, it wasn't the best of days. He ended up kneeling in dragon innards while Sam recounted the Transylvanian Seeker, Balog, diving for the Snitch and England crashing out of the World Cup 390 points to 10.

"Ireland are still in it," Anna reminded them, wiping a streak of dark green blood from her cheek. "You never know. They might win it yet."

* * *

><p>On a rainy morning, several weeks later, a mysterious message appeared on the dining room message board.<p>

_Emergency research meeting! Attendance is compulsory, not optional. My office, 8pm tomorrow._

_A. Wilson_

Charlie groaned. "Why tomorrow? If it's an emergency, why can't we do it tonight?"

"Does it matter?" Keavy was reading the note over Charlie and Sam's shoulders.

"Ireland are playing Peru in the World Cup semi-final tomorrow night," Sam explained. "I thought you, at least, might be interested," he added.

She shrugged and wandered away. "I've never been bothered by Quidditch, really."

Charlie was barely listening, though. He was genuinely horrified. They had it all planned out: he and Sam were going to head to the pub early and grab a prime corner – equal distance from the bar and the toilets – and listen to the match on the wireless. He wondered if Anna knew the Ireland v Peru game was on tomorrow... maybe she'd forgotten? For a fleeting moment, he considered going to tell her what she'd done. _Surely_ she'd want to listen to the game herself? Then he remembered his last disastrous visit to her office and changed his mind.

So the next evening, just as the match was due to start, Charlie and Sam sloped along the corridor to Anna's office. They were all out of ideas. Charlie could not think of any excuse that was sufficiently believable, but would also get him out of the meeting, no questions asked. Sudden case of dragon pox? Or perhaps his broom had been eaten by a Romanian Longhorn and he needed to go into town and replace it and it absolutely _couldn't wait._ "I hope this doesn't take long," Sam said when they reached the door.

"And the Snitch takes _ages_ to catch," Charlie added.

They walked in – and blinked. Green. Everything was green.

Anna came bounding through the crowds of students towards them. She was wearing green as well. "I know what you're thinking," she said, though Charlie doubted it. "And yes, as a proud Gryffindor, I don't usually like to dress all in green – but this is important and – "

"There's no meeting, is there?" Charlie interrupted.

"Uh, no."

"And this was all a ruse?"

"A brilliant ruse."

The walls were draped with huge posters of the Irish Quidditch team and an Irish flag. Hanging over her desk, where her wireless sat, was a poster bearing the cheerily optimistic statement, 'Come on Ireland!' Charlie couldn't fight a grin. She was right. It _was_ brilliant.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to, I don't know, meet at the pub?" Sam suggested, looking around in amazement at the shamrock bedecked walls.

Anna shook her head. "No, actually. Mr Ridgebit's in the pub."

"So?"

"_So_ he's meeting with some high-ranking members of the Romanian Ministry and we are all, in his words,'expressly not welcome.'"

Sam clapped her on the shoulder. "Fair play, miss. I'm going to grab a Butterbeer. Coming, Charlie?"

"In a moment," Anna answered for him. As Sam disappeared across the room, she drew Charlie to one side, muttering very fast in his ear.

"Sorry," he said. "Say that again."

"You _heard_ me." She sounded embarrassed, as if she couldn't bear to say it again.

"Something about money on Ireland?"

She shifted from one foot to the other and wouldn't meet his eyes. "Erm," she mumbled, "kind of. I put a bet on Ireland to win." She inhaled deeply. "Ireland to win by two hundred points."

"Bloody hell, Anna!" Ireland were good, that much was obvious. They were favourites for the tournament. But were they _that_ good? "You know the Peruvian Keeper's a genius, right?"

"I know, I know!" She was twisting a strand of curly hair round and round her finger as though starting to seriously doubt her decision. "That's how I got such good odds."

"How much did you bet?" By the look on her face, Charlie scarcely wanted to ask.

"Uhh... let's just say a lot and leave it at that."

"Anna!"

"Oh, what?" she snapped, and suddenly he saw a flash of temper, the fiery Gryffindor side of her, flare up for the first time. "Don't lecture me, Weasley, okay? I had to do it."

Charlie folded his arms over his chest. Why was he rising to this? "Really? You had to?"

"Yeah," she said, "if I win this bet, I can afford tickets to the World Cup."

Behind them, students and fellow colleagues began to gather around the wireless; the match was beginning. "Come on, Charlie!" Sam called, and he flung him a bottle of Butterbeer.

"Sure, mate. One moment." Charlie turned back to Anna. "Let me get this straight: you don't earn enough money to afford a ticket without making an insane bet? I find it a bit difficult to believe."

"'Course I earn enough," she whispered. "But most of my wages, well... I send them to my Mum. And anyway, I'd need two tickets. I can't go without her."

Charlie couldn't pretend to understand where she was coming from. All he knew was that Ireland's chances of winning by such a huge margin in such a crucial game were incredibly slim. Like her, they already had one eye on the final. Aidan Lynch would have the Snitch in his hand long before the Chasers could rack up that many points.

Charlie was almost sure of it. But looking into Anna's earnest face, he knew, right then, that he wanted nothing more than to be proven wrong.


	7. Fever Pitch

**Note: **Yeah, so... this went from slightly late to 'well, she's never going to update this again.' I kind of got caught up writing other stuff, for which I can only apologise. Unfortunately, this isn't the most popular thing I've ever written – which is a shame as I'm enjoying it – so motivation is a bit difficult. But I intend to power through! So, sorry for the delay and thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter! Much appreciated! Enjoy and please review because I would **love **some feedback!

Fever Pitch

Anna jolted awake. She immediately regretted her return to consciousness.

"Uhhh."

One plus, she supposed, was that she seemed to be in her own bed. Well, on it. Fully clothed. She was still wearing that old green t-shirt with 'IRELAND' clumsily daubed on it in black ink. Leaning over to kick her boots off, she took a nervous glance at the clock on her bedside table. 5.03am. Thank Merlin. She wasn't sacked yet then.

She gingerly wiped her cheek and stared at her hand. Green glitter. Where had the green glitter come from?

For some reason, she suspected Sam Eddowes was responsible for that. It was all a bit of a happy blur, really. Ireland scored a few goals in quick succession and the Butterbeer that was flowing turned swiftly to Firewhisky and then Ireland scored a few _more_ goals and then... laughing and leaping around and Ireland winning by _200_ points. Even Anna knew her bet had been audacious, but apparently miracles did happen.

She grinned like a fool at the darkened ceiling. She was going to Quidditch World Cup Final. It made the searing headache entirely worth it.

But while she couldn't feel too sorry for herself, the thought of flying practise with a new class of recruits in a few hours filled her with horror. Because what she tended to forget was that she was thirty-four, not sixteen, and Gryffindor had not won the Quidditch Cup for the third year in a row – now _that _was a good party – and she couldn't still drink a gallon of Firewhisky and wake up perky in the morning. Times had changed.

Anna jumped into a sitting position, only to slump back under the force of her headache. Oh _God,_ but she'd kissed Weasley, hadn't she? The moment returned to her in a blinding flash of memory. "Bugger!" she hissed. Of course, it hadn't been a _kiss _kiss. It was just a brief, mad thing. He hugged her unexpectedly when Lynch caught the Snitch and she just reacted without thinking. If anything, it was more of a peck. Definitely more of a peck. Like an aunt at a wedding or something.

Wait no, that wasn't a very flattering analogy.

It was matey then, between mates. Friendly.

It was friendly and she was nobody's aunt and it was fine. All fine.

* * *

><p>The Quidditch World Cup Final was three weeks away. Charlie thought he might die of excitement.<p>

That could be the only explanation for his bursting into one of Anna's classes under the pretence of 'important business.'

She was stood in front of the blackboard holding a foot long Ukranian Ironbelly fang and lecturing two boys who wouldn't stop talking. "Oi! Hadley! Tyler! How would like to have your insides ripped out by one of these?" She held up the gargantuan fang. "That's what's going to happen if you don't _listen_ to me." She turned to Charlie who was lingering at the side and flashed him a brief, if weary, grin.

"What is it, Mr Weasley?"

_Mr Weasley_... qualified dragon handler and employee of the world's biggest dragon reserve. He couldn't quite get used to that.

"Nothing urgent," he said, standing back. "I can wait."

"Good." Her current class were a handful, that much was obvious. When at last they trailed out of the classroom, chatting and joking, Anna shook her head. She dumped the Ironbelly fang on her desk with a dull _clunk_. "I've got to fly with that lot tomorrow," she sighed, turning to Charlie. "You know how when you first got here we gave you all those deep speeches, kind of daring you to quit?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I hope they all take it seriously." Charlie grinned as soon as she turned her back because he knew she didn't really mean it. "No, really, Charlie. I'm serious!"

"You're not," he laughed. "Maybe just take them into a few Wronski Feints?"

"Aha! Tempting, tempting," Anna said. "So what _did _you want?"

"Just got a letter from my dad – he's got the tickets to the final."

"Oooh!" Anna's dark eyes glittered, Quidditch providing an immediate distraction from her awful class. "So," she said. "Spill. Where are your seats?"

Charlie hesitated. Although he was thrilled about his family's seats, he was a bit embarrassed to admit it to Anna. "Uh... Top Box, actually."

"_Top Box? _How? Damn," she sighed. "And here I am in lowly seat 14H or G or whatever it was. How on earth did you get such a good seats, Weasley?"

Charlie shrugged. In truth, it seemed crazy even to him that his father had got such great seats. As a child, Quidditch finals were just a dream – he knew then that his parents had little money. "He did someone a favour in work," he explained, supposing that sometimes good things did happen to good people.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Wow. You lucky sod."

The door crashed open. It was Sam. "Anna, we need your help out here. That baby Horntail we brought in for blood testing has gone mental – it got one of the girls with its tail, badly cut her arm. All hell's breaking loose, honestly. Sorry to interrupt," he added, shooting a devious look at Charlie.

Luckily, Anna didn't seem to be paying attention. "Oh, Merlin," she muttered, twisting a hand through her hair. "Come on then. Show me where. You'd better come as well, Weasley. Sounds as if we need all hands on deck."

* * *

><p>"There's no way that's true." Anna was sat, arms folded, at a small table at in the local tavern. She was positioned between her colleagues, Dragos and Andrei Cisca, the latter of whom was puffing on a pipe and shrouding them in thick purple smoke.<p>

"It's true," said Dragos, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "To the best of my knowledge. I didn't believe it myself at first, Anna."

He pronounced her name strangely, over-emphasising the first 'A'. 'Aaah' rather than 'Ah'. She was very used to it by now, of course.

"Stupid," was Andrei's muttered opinion.

Anna wasn't sure whether he was referring to the conversation or Dragos' news. Possibly both.

Certainly, the revival of the Triwizard Tournament seemed like a ridiculous idea. True, when she was fifteen she would've loved nothing more that the excitement of a dangerous competition. But that was before the war took hold and life became too dangerous. Now it seemed vaguely disturbing to her that today's teenagers were being put at risk for sport, whereas so many of her own generation had died for something far more significant.

At the other side of the room, a group including Charlie and Sam were playing a raucous game of Exploding Snap. The young barmaid, Ramona, spent a lot of time hanging around their table, flicking her dark hair and laughing, albeit confusedly, at Sam's jokes. Anna watched them absently for a while, before turning to her companions.

"Well, I'm still struggling to believe it."

"Mr Ridgebit said – "

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Dragos! 'Mr Ridgebit said,'" she mimicked. "He says _plenty _of things, and how much of it do we actually listen to? The man doesn't know dragons! It's just a business to him."

"Idiot," Andrei agreed, and this time Anna knew exactly who he was referring to.

"And anyway," she continued, "what would he have heard about the Triwizard Tournament? It doesn't have anything to do with us. There aren't even any schools nearby – "

Anna stopped. There had been a small explosion followed by a plume of smoke rising from the corner where Charlie and Sam were playing Exploding Snap. The barmaid had scurried away. Anna forgot all about the Triwizard Tournament because Sam, she noticed, was suddenly and hilariously devoid of eyebrows.

* * *

><p>Some of the best nights Charlie had in Romania were out on his broom just after sunset. Part of his work involved making sure his flying skills were up to scratch – but this, for Charlie, was more of a bonus than a chore.<p>

He hovered in the air, an old Beater's bat clutched in his right hand. He swung it back and sent the tennis ball they were practising with careening into the night. He and Anna were in the paddock at the edge of the village where new recruits were put through their paces.

"Nice one!" Anna shouted, zooming after it, her hair flying behind her.

Charlie watched her diving after the ball, catching it inches from the grass, thirty feet below him. "You too," he called.

She flew back up to meet him, brushing her hair off her face and grinning. "Thanks. And your reflexes were great just then."

It was weird, he thought, she was being _too_ nice to him. He turned the tennis ball over in his hands. It was an odd little thing: bright green, about the size of an apple and _furry_. Muggles were so strange, though he could see what his father found so fascinating about them.

"Weasley!" Anna clapped her hands impatiently. "Come on, what are we waiting for?"

Charlie jolted and looked up. The night had grown fully dark now, shadows creeping down from the mountains and filling the space between them. If it weren't for the stars glinting overhead, he wouldn't have been able to make out her face. He held up the tennis ball. "Sure you'll be able to see it?"

"Very sure."

He threw it high into the air. It climbed into a high arch, but fell rapidly. Anna was just about as quick. She threw herself forward on her broom, flung out her right arm and it landed on her palm. She sent Charlie a flushed smile and glided slowly over to him. "You're right," she admitted, "it is getting dark."

On the way back to base, Anna asked Charlie an unexpected question. "Have you ever heard of the Triwizard Tournament?"

The name was distantly familiar. Charlie half-recognised it – perhaps it had been mentioned briefly in an old text book. He nodded slowly. "I think I know _of _it."

A strange look came over Anna's face; her lips were tight. "Me too. I know a little bit about it – mainly that it's dangerous." She shot a glance at Charlie. "Rumour is, they're reviving it."

"They?"

"The Ministry. Apparently it's going to be held at Hogwarts. These are only rumours, mind. No idea if it'll actually happen. I just wonder... why was Mr Ridgebit involved?"

They could both quite easily guess, though neither spoke of what was running through their head. _Dragons. _

"Who told you?" Charlie asked.

"Dragos," Anna said and then sighed. "He's probably right, too, though I'd never tell him so..."

Something stilled within Charlie: a twist in the pit of his stomach and a sudden tightness in his throat. But it passed in an instant. It could easily have been his imagination, but it clearly wasn't because Anna had noticed. She fixed him a look, her head titled slightly. "What?"

"Oh. Nothing." He tossed and caught the tennis ball without much enthusiasm. It was an attempt at carefree that fell some way short.

She came to a complete halt. _"What?"_

Charlie's Gryffindor boldness chose exactly the wrong moment to surface: "I mean, you two are – "

The _together_ bit didn't actually come out. He came to his senses before that, but by then it was too late. What else could he possibly be referring to?

"You two?" she repeated. "Me and Dragos?"

There was silence. Charlie fought for something to say, some explanation. He shrugged. "That's – that's what I was told."

Anna just laughed. Loudly. "Okay, sure." She threw her hands up in exasperation. "If that's what you were _told_, then of course. _Who_ told you, incidentally?"

Horror was coursing through Charlie's veins. Why had he opened his mouth? "Sam," he admitted, wincing even as he said it.

"And that makes it true? Look Charlie: I don't care if Godric Gryffindor himself told you that! I'm damn well fed up of bloody stupid rumours!" She swung her Cleansweep Seven over her shoulder and marched back to base at a speed that told him it was madness to try and follow.

Charlie. She had called him Charlie. Though this time, using his first name instead of Weasley was not necessarily a good thing. It meant he had he broken down the barrier between boss and employee and, in this particular instance, that was very much a bad move.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading and, as always, please leave a review! :) <em>


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